


An Overabundance Of Cherries

by afteriwake



Series: Sherlolly Spring Fling - April/May 2017 [32]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Broken Engagement, Caught in the Rain, Cherry Patterns, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Jealous Sherlock, Mentioned Molly Hooper/Tom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Sherlock Holmes, Past Molly Hooper/Tom - Freeform, Post-Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Sherlock Has A Crush, Sherlock's Bolt Hole, Sherlock's thoughts, Sherlock-centric, Snooping, Undressing, bras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes thinks of Molly, he associates her with cherry-printed clothing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilsherlockian1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/gifts).



> And we're almost at my 900th Sherlock fic! **lilsherlockian1975** asked for a Sherlolly fic and try as I might, I am just a bit too befuddled to write the explicit part today (maybe after I get more than five hours of sleep), but I felt I could at least post the first half to whet everyone's appetite while it's still officially May. Enjoy!

He would never admit to snooping. Not that he needed to; he was a consulting detective, he was sure most people assumed he did so anyway. 

But most people never let him use their bedroom as a bolthole, either.

He’d noticed Molly would almost always tidy it up before she let him in if he showed up while there was some semblance of her being awake enough to do so. He did try, at times, to be courteous of the hour. And there were times, of course, when he was gracious enough to share the sofa with the cat if it was too late in the hour, and lay awake and think. And it worked well for a time, this arrangement, even after her engagement to Meat Dagger, though he doubted the man himself approved. Molly never breathed a word, though.

Though...she didn’t let him stay the night. If she wanted to spend the night with her fiancee, he came to his bolthole finding a tidy bedroom and an empty flat.

And then, he would snoop.

He had wondered what the attraction was, beyond the physical. Beyond the rather pale resemblance. Was he a kind man? Did he treat her well? Was he gracious to her friends and kind to what little family she had left, scattered to the wind as it was? Had he even _met_ he sister in Berwick-upon-Tweed or heard stories of her nieces who she only really knew through photographs?

To be honest, he wondered why he knew of them. Why she had told him. Why he had listened and cataloged the information and the pictures of Grace and Tabitha and settled it firmly in her room in his mind palace where all the pertinent information about her went. He and Molly weren’t friends, not really. They could have been, possibly, if things had been different. If he had allowed it.

Perhaps he should have.

No use for it now.

It was in one of those times where he was alone in the flat where he found something out of place. Something...intimate...out of place. Oh, her bedroom was always tidy, so clean he’d expect she could probably perform surgery in it with a low chance of patient infection. But sticking out of the hamper was a brassiere.

A cherry patterned brassiere.

He flashed back to the first time he saw her, in Stamford’s office. Not officially on duty, just hired, probably having just been warned against angering him. Hair pulled back in a sleek bun, slightly off center at the nape of her neck, simple black skirt that ended just above the knees, white button down blouse with no frills, and the cherry print cardigan he would soon come to associate with her. Even then he had been struck by the thought she was soft, and he could bend her to his will.

He should have known differently.

He fingered the brassiere and thought absently about doing more. It was true, he had those thoughts from time to time. He did his best to ignore them, as they held no place in his life. Carnal thoughts would simply slow the scientific process, do nothing more than complicate things. Complicate everything.

And she wasn’t his to have.

She was someone else's.

Greedy bastard he might be, he wouldn’t hurt her by putting her in a position to make her break a vow she’d made. She promised herself to someone else, and they could be friends. Nothing more.

The brassiere went in the hamper, the lid closed, and he tried to forget about it.

Tried, being the operative word.


	2. Chapter 2

She was here.

It had started to rain not long after he had left the Watson’s wedding, not content to stay, not truly wanting to be alone. He just didn’t want to be _there_ , surrounded by happiness and the idea of prosperity that was to be lost to him.

Try as he had the last few months, he could not budge the want in his heart for Molly Hooper. No, no, he ought to call it what it really was: love. The _love_ he had for Molly Hooper and the fact that she was there, dancing, and Meat Dagger would take her to his home and there would be plenty of shagging to be had between them because she was having an awful lot of sex, wasn’t she? That was what she had said and he hadn’t wanted to deduce anything more about the situation.

He had paused under the boughs of a tree to sneak a cig when he saw the flash of yellow. Then it was more of a blur and then she was there, in front of him, out of breath and getting soaked to the bone. “Sherlock...”

He hadn’t even bothered to take a drag but the lit cigarette dropped to the ground as he hurried to shrug out of his Belstaff because _why was she there getting soaked_? He tenderly, or as tenderly as he was able, draped it on her shoulders and just stared. He had so many questions but before he could process that she had come after him she was closer than she had ever been, so close he could smell the cherry blossom shampoo she used, and she kissed him.

Alarm bells clanged in his head that no, no, she was engaged, but he didn’t care to listen to them as he kissed her back, full measure, holding nothing back. She moaned into his mouth and clung to him, pressing herself against him and eventually he got to hold her hands in his.

No engagement band.

She was free of the substitute.

That made him kiss her even harder until they were nearly melded into one. And then he knew tonight would change things permanently. But this was no place to stay without one of them becoming ill or things getting quite dirty.

He grabbed her hand and took her to the line of cabs he had made sure would be on the premises to take drunken revelers home safely. John and Mary did not need any accidents on their conscience. They got into the closest one and he had barely managed to give the address to Baker Street to the cabbie when she was snuggling into him and he had to kiss her again. It was a need, and the fantasies he had had in the long time to now that he’d tried to put away had just paled in comparison.

There had been discreet touching, kissing, love bites...he knew the two of them would have to hide a blatantly obvious reaction to the end of her engagement in the morning, and morning him might care, but right now he was just filled with need. An urgent, all-consuming need.

They got out of the cab and Sherlock tossed more money at the cabbie than he knew the ride was worth, and they managed to hold their composure until they got inside. Then it began: the disrobing, the trail of clothes leading to his bedroom, the obvious proof that she was there, she was his, and they made it there almost completely starkers until Molly glanced near his bed and stopped.

“That’s where it went!”

He was in a haze and it wasn’t until he saw the red-printed material in a heap near his bed that he realized she had seen the thing he kept to remind himself of her, the bra he’d knicked that lonely night ages ago after the fiasco of their not-date date. He waited, expecting her to be upset with him, furious, he had taken it from her but she pulled away, her bare breasts bouncing just a bit with each step, and scooped it up off the floor. Her back was to him as she began to put it on and then she turned, and it was only then he realized she had worn the matching knickers that evening.

He couldn’t help his reaction to the sight of her clad in nothing more than the cherry-printed lingerie set, and he knew she could physically see the reaction it had given him by the smile on her face. She crooked a finger at him and when he got close enough she grabbed his shoulders to pull him down as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Kneeling in front of her he fingered the edges of the bra. It wasn’t padded and therefore was on the thin side. He leaned in and took one cherry-covered breast in his mouth, feeling her arch into him and hearing her moan low in her throat as he made her nipple hard under the fabric. After a moment, he let a hand slide down her bare waist, edging the lace of the panties and then slipping in, feeling her slick wetness on his fingers once he got past the curly hair. 

She momentarily tightened her thighs together but once he began to stroke her tenderly, letting an errant finger slip inside her from time to time, she relaxed and soon pulled her breast away from his mouth, leaning back on the bed with her legs over the side.

And he wanted to taste her more than anything else in the world.

He spread her thighs apart, pressing kisses to the inside of her thigh, starting from her knee, and soon is mouth was hovering over her knickers, the smell of her so strong it was almost overpowering how much it was turning him on. He reached up to the top of her knickers and she lifted her hips so he could take them off of her, and when he was done he sent a slow lick across her clit. She moaned, and her hands moved from gripping the bed to somewhere else. Possibly her breasts, he theorized, to try and provide some relief but he was so focused on lapping up her juices and giving her a pleasurable experience that he wasn’t sure.

There were many things he was unsure of, he realized, but this...worshiping her, loving her...this was not among those things.

Her thighs pressed closer and he could feel them tremble as he continued his ministrations, adding a finger to slowly edge her to her release. And when it came it was glorious, the sound of her moaning his name something he knew he would remember for a lifetime.

He was glad he’d had the foresight to have condoms around to control the mess when he fantasized about her, about this, and he quickly tore one of the packets open and rolled it onto his rigid staff. And then slowly, so very slowly to draw it out, he entered her. She fit him perfectly as though this had been meant to be and they had both just been to blind to see. Or he had, at least, and now he was no longer blind.

She pulled him down, her fingers grazing the curls at the back of his neck, her legs wrapping around him and her heels on his arse encouraging him to go harder, faster, deeper. He didn’t kiss her but watched her as he pumped into her, watched the closed eyes and listened to the hitching breaths and small moans until he knew they both needed more. It didn’t take long, just a simple teasing of her clit before she came with him inside her and he soon followed.

She was still wearing the brassiere and his chin was resting on her breast, edging the cup. She was stroking his hair back and he went to lay small kisses on the cloth covered breast, knowing that forever more in his mind, when he needed to think of her, she would be clad in this lingerie set, and forever smell of cherry blossom and musk. And that...that was perfectly fine with him.


End file.
